In the congregation of
Rev. Samuel Davies, in Hanover County, were five brothers of the name of
Allen. Soon after Mr. Davies left Virginia, these brothers, with others
of the congregation, sought locations in the more fertile lands along
the frontiers, and made their home on Great Guinea, in Cumberland. Four
of these brothers successively became elders in the church in Cumberland
County, of which they were, in part, the founders. Daniel Allen, by his
first wife, a Miss Harrison, had ten children; of which Cary was the
eighth, born April, 1767. For his second wife, he married the widow of
Joseph Hill, with five children, Mrs. Joanna Hill. Her fourth child was
William, from whom, through Dr. Hill, of Winchester, very many of the
circumstances concerning the life of Cary Allen have been preserved for
the public. When these two families were united, Allen was in his ninth
and Hill in his seventh year.
Cary was remarkable, from
his early childhood, for his. good temper and amiable deportment among
his associates. Mr. Allen reared his numerous family on religious
principles. His children, in their retired situations, grew up strangers
to vice and immorality. The cheerfulness of Cary often approached
levity. He Was very agreeable, as his eccentric thoughts and speeches
had a peculiar drollery of an amusing nature. He could make others laugh
to excess, without laughing himself, or appearing to know that he had
said anything to cause a laugh. This power appeared to be exercised
without premeditation, and the habit was fixed from very early years,
and continued through his whole life. His talent for the acquisition of
knowledge was moderate: for investigation and close reasoning, still
more circumscribed. His voice was clear, his utterance easy, his frame
tall, and built for strength. His whole appearance was that of a
pleasant, eccentric man, from whom drollery might be expected, whose
oddities were no disparagement to his usefulness in common life. Gravity
sat fully upon him, even when he was oppressed with serious reflections.
There was often something of the ludicrous mixed up with his mental
distress. One afternoon, reclining upon the hill-side with young Hill,
and looking at the fatted hogs in a pen, and at the preparations made
for their slaughter the next morning, after contemplating the entire
unconsciousness and ease of the hogs, and the certainty of their
approaching destruction, he exclaimed, “Oh! that I could exchange lots
with one of those hogs!” “What upon earth do you mean?” said young Hill;
“I always thought you much better than myself, and I would not exchange
lots with one of those hogs, with a knife so near my throat, for the
world.” “But,” says Allen, “you forget that those hogs have no souls;
and when they are killed, there is the end of them, but I have a
never-dying soul, which is unprepared to meet God, my judge; and,
whether I shall ever be prepared, God only knows.”
When about seventeen
years of age he was visited with a typhus fever. For weeks he was either
raging with a fever, or overcome with torpor. His recovery was
unexpected and gradual. His emaciated limbs required the use of
crutches. His friends, believing that his bodily vigor would never be
sufficient for active employment, turned his attention to the
preparation for some profession suited to his condition. He commenced a
course of study at Hampden Sidney. His health and strength slowly
returned. His sickness had not led him to godly living; he was more
droll and volatile than ever. Though his progress in literature and
science was laborious and slow, he was desirous of completing the course
he had begun. His moral conduct was correct. He was very studious. His
eccentric mirth was an unfailing source of amusement to the students and
the young people of the neighborhood. In the exhibitions given, spring
and fall, by the students, for improvement in public speaking, Allen
became a favorite. Choosing subjects congenial with his mirth-inspiring
spirit, he deluged the audience with his fun. His appearance was the
signal for uproarious laughter. He was commonly put last on the list,
because, after his address, the audience were not prepared for serious
discussion. He got possession of the first copy of Cowper’s John Gilpin
that came to the neighborhood, and kept it carefully for his appearance
at the exhibition. A large audience was assembled. Allen’s appearance on
the stage was the signal that the exercises were coming to a close, and
the fountain of mirth to be opened. Rehearsing the stanzas, with proper
tone and gesture, he speedily broke up the gravity of the most sedate,
and for a time was the personification of fun and drollery. His complete
success was injurious. His eccentric ways became fastened upon him
beyond his power of escape. He was evidently a man for comedy. He was
comedy itself; outwardly all fun and merriment, and inwardly pained at
heart, and envying the swine.
With light and joyous
mind he went to spend his vacation in the fall of 1787, with his father
and friends in Cumberland. The Rev. Hope Hull, a popular and impressive
preacher, well skilled in setting forth the claims of God’s violated
law, preached in the neighborhood. He was a follower of Wesley, and had
not yet separated from the Episcopal Church. The Methodists were then
considered revived Episcopalians, and found ready access to Episcopal
neighborhoods, desirous of hearing on the subject of spiritual religion.
Young Allen went one night to hear Mr. Hull. The house being crowded, he
stood in front of the preacher, and very near him. Before the exercises
closed, he trembled, shook, and fell prostrate upon the floor. After the
congregation was dismissed, he was in great agony, crying for mercy. He
afterwards declared that he then put up his first earnest prayer to his
justly offended God. When asked why he had never prayed before, having
been religiously educated, and taught to repeat forms of prayer from his
childhood, he replied, that in his view the character of God was so
great, glorious and exalted, in his holiness, justice, omnipotence and
omnipresence, that it appeared to him irreverence and mockery for him to
speak to the Majesty of heaven, who well knew what a sinful wretch he
was. Before he rose from the floor, he professed to surrender his
rebellious heart to God, and to find peace in believing on the Lord
Jesus. In a few days he returned to college, and renewed his studies.
President Smith examined him closely on his experience and his views of
religious truth, instructed him in the life of godliness, and gave him
books to read; among others, Edwards on the Affections. Allen professed
to have been long in trouble about his soul, had felt the wickedness of
his heart, and his unfitness even for prayer; and that on the night he
heard Mr. Hull, he had cast himself on the mercy of God in Christ Jesus.
In every thing hut his eccentricity and aptness for drollery, Allen was
a changed man; and these his foibles were henceforth under a restraining
influence.
After much enquiry and
reading and self-examination, he came to the conclusion that he loved
the Lord Christ and ought to spend his life in preaching the gospel.
Having finished his college course with honor, his morals untarnished
and his profession of religion unspotted, he commenced the study of
Theology in preparation for the gospel ministry. His friends were in
great doubt about the propriety of his choice of profession. His way of
thinking and speaking would provoke a smile when there was no cause for
ridicule or sneering because there was nothing mean, or vulgar, or vile
in the subjects under consideration. Carrying the impress of honesty and
frankness, he had no natural or acquired gravity. But while smiling at
the oddity of the speaker in his exhortations at prayer-meetings, the
hearer would be arrested by his intense earnestness. He, that began to
listen with a smile, would in the end be bathed in tears. Allen seemed
to those, who knew him best, to live only for religion ; his heart was
filled with desires to do good. His acquaintances loved him for his
devotion to God, while they feared he would mar his usefulness as a
minister, by his strange fun-producing ways; and threw many obstacles in
the way of his entering the ministry, to divert his attention and lead
him to some other pursuit in life. But all these efforts were in vain.
In January 1789, he was
received by the Hanover Presbytery, met at Buffalo, as candidate for the
gospel ministry, after an enquiry at some length— “into his experimental
knowledge of religion, and a work of grace in his soul, and after some
time spent in hearing from him a detail of God’s dealings with him, and
examining into his motives for desiring to preach the gospel.” At the
next meeting held April 26th, in the same year, at Buffalo, Mr. Legrand
delivered his popular sermon and read his lecture, and on the next day
Mr. Allen read an essay on the Extent of Christ’s Redemption, and a
Presbyterial exercise upon John 3d. 8th,—The wind bloweth where it
listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence
it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the
spirit. Mr. Legrand was licensed to preach, and Mr. Allen had other
parts of trial assigned him. At Pisgah, in Bedford, Oct.
1789, Mr. Allen was
called on to open Presbytery with his popular discourse on Rom. 7th. 13,
14; he read his lecture upon Luke 15th, from the 12th to the 32d verse,
inclusive. Wm. Hill and Daniel Wiley were received candidates. Mr.
Allen’s pieces of trial were sustained. At Mr. Mitchel’s house on the
19th, “The Presbytery then entered upon the examination of Mr. Allen on
Divinity, and after spending a considerable time thereon, were of
opinion that he is not so well acquainted with that necessary science as
to be sufficiently qualified to teach others, at present. They therefore
recommend to him a diligent attention to the study of Divinity till the
next session of Presbytery.” At this decision Allen was surprised and
mortified. Legrand was licensed after about a year’s study ; a Methodist
minister was at this meeting received and ordained; the revival was
progressing, and calls for preaching came from every direction; and his
trial pieces had been sustained. The Church has long since decided that
two years in study are not improperly spent in preparation for the
ministry; and Allen had passed but one, but had studied as long as was
usual in his day. The want of ministerial gravity impressed the
Presbytery with the fear that the spirit of Theology had not
sufficiently imbued his soul. Allen bowed meekly to the decision and
without a word of complaint pursued his studies. On the 8th of May,
1790, at Briery, after examination at length in Divinity, Mr. Allen was
licensed to preach the gospel. The Presbytery took him by the hand as a
token of fellowship. This ceremony became a standing rule from that
time. Mr. Pattillo preached on the occasion from the words, “The spirit
of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel
to the poor.”
Mr. Hill was licensed in
the following July. He and Mr. Allen passed the summer as missionaries
in the counties along the Carolina line. In October the Presbytery, “
recommended Mr. Hill and Mr. Allen to the care and direction” of the
commission of Synod on a request from that body. Allen had during the
summer surpassed the expectations of his warmest friends. His whole soul
was in his work. The careless and profane would listen to his talk; and
whoever listened for any time must hear some great truths of religion.
His frank open countenance, his polite demeanor, and his cheerfulness
tinged with his indescribable drollery, attracted attention, and that
once arrested Allen was sure of a hearing, be the auditor who he might,
young or old, learned or unlearned, infidel or Christian. A sentence
that provoked a smile would be followed by sentiment that shot like a
barbed arrow to the heart. ,Often the very sentence that provoked the
smile would make the heart ache. No one talked with him or heard him
preach without feeling that he was a devotedly pious man. Multitudes
under his ministry were turned to God. He continued in the employ of the
commission of Synod about three years. In this time he made two trips
across the Alleghenies.
The first tour of
missionary service in that part of Virginia now embraced in the State of
Kentucky, was performed by Mr. Allen and Robert Marshall, under the
direction of the Commission in 1791. The route to Kentucky was dreary
and dangerous. A vast wilderness intervened the settlements east of the
Alleghenies and the scattered inhabitants on the Western rivers.
Indians, hostile to the progress of the white man to their hunting
grounds, infested the route by land or water. The emigrants were
accustomed to assemble at Fort Redstone, the head of boat navigation on
the Monongahela, now called Brownsville. They might descend the
Monongahela and Ohio rivers in boats, or cross the mouutains on
pack-horses. Emigrants commonly preferred to descend the rivers, as less
fatiguing. Those returning^from Kentucky preferred crossing the
mountains.
As some time was
necessarily consumed in the preparations for embarkation, Messrs. Allen
and Marshall had opportunity to make proof of their ministry in
Pennsylvania. Their zeal in the cause of the gospel excited great
attention; and the use of Watts’s psalms and hymns provoked opposition.
Many refused to hear them; but crowds of young people flocked to their
appointments in private houses. A large number became deeply interested
on the subject of their salvation. When the emigrants embarked there was
a company of inquirers left around Redstone, many of whom afterwards
became, hopefully, Christians, and were united with the Church of
Christ.
After the usual exposures
and labors of the passage down the rivers in boats, the missionaries
arrived safe in Kentucky, and without delay commenced their labors. Both
were popular and useful; and both eventually settled in that State. In
habits and manner of preaching they were antipodes. Marshall was grave
and reserved; Allen cheerful to excess and social. Marshall declaimed
powerfully, and could reason closely and exhibit much research. Allen,
by his manner and cheerful speeches, would arrest attention, and fill
the mind with pious thoughts without any pretence to argument or
research, or splendid declamation. For a time they went along in
company. The calls for preaching becoming numerous, and at great
distances, they separated to supply the urgent demand for the
ministration of the word. In due time Mr. Marshall became pastor of the
churches Bethel and Blue Spring. His ashes lie near Bethel church.
On Silver Creek was a
settlement from Virginia. With them was living a Baptist minister, who
had removed with them. He had grown lax in his sentiments, and preached
Universalism. Many admired the new doctrine. Reports respecting Mr.
Allen awakened a desire to hear him preach, and an invitation was sent
to him to visit Silver Creek. On an appointed day a large crowd was
assembled. The log meeting-house being small, a stand was erected in the
woods. When Mr. Allen ascended the stand the Universalist took his seat
by his side. After a pause, Mr. Allen arose and looking round upon the
concourse assembled, seemed lost in thought. At length breaking silence
— “I do not know to what to compare the people in Kentucky.” Another
long pause. “But I think they remind me of a nest of young robins as
much as anything I can think of. Go to their nest and chirp, and every
one will hold his mouth wide open, and you may put in what you please,
food or poison, and it all goes down alike. Get up here and tell the
people you are going to preach to them, and they stare at the preacher
with eyes and mouth open, and you may say what you please, truth or
error, sense or nonsense, and they are equally pleased, if you call it
preaching. A man has been preaching here, who tells you he has found out
a little hack door in hell, where you may all step out, and get safely
round to heaven at last; and because he called it preaching you gulped
it. Poison, rank Poison. If you trust to this unscriptural fancy, you
will land in that place of fire and brimstone between which and heaven
there rolls the unfathomable gulf you can never pass.” He then gave a
plain, pungent sermon, warning his hearers of the doom of all impenitent
sinners. The audience were captivated by the honesty of the man, and
deeply impressed with the truths he delivered. He preached to the
congregation repeatedly. On the 21st of April, 1792, a call was made out
for him by desire of the people, and signed by Thomas Maxwell, Samuel
Woods, Alexander Mackey, James Henderson, John Cochran, John Young, and
Robert Dickey. They pledged for his support <£150 the first year, and
afterwards as they might agree.
Mr. Allen returned to
Virginia soon after this call was made out. He went with a company on
horseback across the mountains, carrying his rifle like the rest, in
defence against the patrolling Indians, girded with a wampum shot pouch
that had been taken from a hostile Indian, and presented to him, in
appearance more like a real backwoodsman than a gospel minister. The
party often saw the trail of savages, but met no enemy. After parting
with his travelling companions, passing on through Campbell County
alone, towards evening, after a long day’s ride, he determined to call
for the night upon an old gentleman, an elder in the Church, in easy
circumstances, who lived not far from the road. The day had been warm,
and he had put on a yellow grounded calico morning gown, with his wampum
belt for a girdle. About dusk he approached the house, and asked the
lady, who answered his call, for lodging and food. Not liking his
appearance in this strange costume, with rifle in hand, she said they
were not in the habit of entertaining strangers, and begged him to apply
elsewhere. Allen replied — “The day is spent, I and my horse are weary;
and I have been taught that it is right for good people to entertain
strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Moved by
the text of scripture, the old lady bid him come in. He entered
cheerfully, set his rifle in the corner of the room, hung his wampum
belt upon the muzzle, and set himself at ease. “You have been travelling
some distance?” “Yes, a considerable distance, madam.” “Pray, sir, where
are you from?” “From Kentucky, madam.” “And what news do you bring from
that new country?” “Nothing much out of the usual way.” After a pause —
“There is something which has excited a good deal of interest and talk
among the people. Certain men have been there and brought strange things
to their ears. Some do not understand these things; and others think
there is a great deal of truth in them.” “Why, who are they; and what do
they talk about?” “They call themselves preachers, and talk much about
the Bible, and say people must be born again, and be converted, and the
like of that; and many folks don’t know what to make of such talk.”
“Well, if we believe the Bible, people must experience these things.”
“Aye, that is another thing which they talk much about — experience:
they often talk of experience as an important point; but many do not
know what is meant by it.” “Every true Christian knows what is meant by
it,” said the lady.
At this point in the
conversation the old gentleman came in and took his seat. “But Madam,
resumed Allen, you said every good Christian knows what experience
means. Pray Madam can you tell what it means?” The old lady appeared
unwilling to talk more before a thoughtless stranger, on the subject of
experience. But Mr. Allen pressed the matter, saying he wished to know
what it was. With some hesitation she told him the exercises of her mind
till she found peace in believing on the Lord Jesus. Indeed, said Allen,
is that what people mean by Christian experience? Then turning to the
old man—he inquired of him—if he had the experience of grace in his
heart. The old man said he hoped so—but did not know for certain that he
was ever converted. Do you think, said Allen—an experience of religion
necessary ?—for instance—if a man is strictly honest, pays his debts, is
charitable to the poor, and upright, and moral, may not such a man be
saved without all this fuss about religion? The old man thought that
such a man might probably be saved. “In fact, says Allen, is it any
matter what religion a man is of, if he is Only sincere, and charitable,
and honest, and lives a good moral life?” The old man thought such an
one might be saved as well as others. Supper was now announced.
Allen walked to the
table, devoutly asked a blessing, and sat down. The old lady gazed at
him for a time. In the name of common sense who are you ? Are you a
minister of the gospel ? Allen smiled, told his name, and said he had
been trying to preach the gospel. Now Mr. Allen, said she, ain't you
ashamed to play such pranks on an old woman, to make her expose herself.
Never mind, said Allen, you have not exposed yourself; you have borne an
honorable testimony, that you are not ashamed of your religion, but are
willing to confess Christ before men. But as for you, turning to the old
man—you have given evidence that you know nothing about religion—and
that you are in the gall of bitterness, and the bond of iniquity. He
then exhorted the old man to flee from the wrath to come.
After a short visit at
home, Mr. Allen prepared to return to Kentucky. The commission were well
satisfied with his report; and in sending him back to his former scene
of labor, they gave him for a companion, the Rev. William Calhoon, who
had been licensed to preach on the 12th May of that year, 1792. In
descending the Ohio, the boat in which they were embarked was attacked
by Indians. Mr. Allen insisted on having his post, and rifle in hand,
with cheerfulness, faced the danger as fearless and composed as if the
enemy were not near.
On reaching Kentucky and
resuming the work of a missionary, Mr. Allen resolved to get clear of
his eccentric ways, and be as grave as Marshall, and his present
companion, Calhoon. The year’ previous, Marshall seeing the impression
made by Allen’s humor, resolved to relax somewhat of his gravity and
follow the track of Allen. A few attempts, however, convinced him of the
absurdity of all such attempts; and he renewed his efforts to improve
the powers God had given him, and became the most impressive speaker in
Kentucky. Allen admired gravity in others, and felt his want of it
charmed with the ministerial dignity of his young friend, he determined
to imitate him. With all the gravity he could assume, he went to his
next appointment, rode to the house slowly, dismounted in a slow quiet
manner, spoke gravely to the people, moved about in a solemn manner
without a smile or exciting a smile in others. People were astonished.
Are you unwell, Mr. Allen? Has anything happened, Mr. Allen? Have you
heard any bad news, Mr. Allen? Any affliction among your friends, Mr.
Allen? At last bursting into a laugh, to the surprise and merriment of
all, he exclaimed — “I can play Calhoon no longer.” When the excitement
was over, he made them weep under his sermon.
In the fall of 1793,
Messrs. Allen and Calhoon returned to Virginia, and met the Presbytery
at Cumberland meeting-house, Nov. 8th. The record is — “Sir. Carey Allen
and Mr. William Calhoon who have been under the direction of the
commission of Synod producing their dismission from that body with
recommendations to the Presbytery, were again received and recorded as
probationers under their charge.” On the next day, Mr. Allen was
appointed to supply in Albemarle, Madison, Louisa, Goochland, and
Buckingham; Mr. Calhoon in Mecklenburg, Lunenberg, Nottaway, and Amelia.
The tour performed the succeeding winter by Mr. Allen was remembered
through life by the youths and children on whom his conversation made
the deepest impression. The cheerful man of God fastened their
attention, and engraved on their memory the things of religion. Some
living now will say — “I remember him at our house," and will tell what
passed.
In the Spring of 1794,
Mr. Allen removed to Kentucky. In preparation for a permanent residence
west of the Alleghenies, he was married to a daughter of Col. Fleming,
of Botetourt. In passing back and forth during the winter, he preached
at Pattonsburg. Coi. Skillern, an amiable old Virginia gentleman, not
particularly inclined to religion, supposed to be somewhat infected*with
infidelity, went to hear him. Struck with the benignant countenance of
the preacher, and impressed favorably by his singular sermon, he sought
an introduction, and invited him to his house. Mr. Allen declined the
invitation, having agreed to pass the night with another family. “Weil,
Mr. Allen,” said the Colonel, “I shall be happy to see you at my house
at any time that will suit your convenience.” “But, Colonel, 1 am sent
out to preach the gospel, I have no other business; so I preach wherever
1 go.” “That forms no objection, Mr. Allen, 1 shall be glad to see you,
and have some of your conversation.” “Well now, Colonel, suppose I make
an appointment to preach at your house a little time hence V’ “Agreed,
Mr. Allen, make what appointment you please.” Mr. Allen immediately gave
notice that on a certain Sabbath they might expect preaching at Col.
Skillern’s. “Now, Colonel, you may expect me the Saturday before.”
On the appointed
Saturday, Mr. Allen was most kindly received by the Colonel and his
family; and the afternoon and evening were spent in cheerful
conversation. The improvement of James River was the absorbing subject
at that time. The passage of a canal through the Blue Bidge, on the
banks of the river, was considered of vital importance to the Valley.
The Colonel was greatly interested, as his possessions in lands and
negroes were very large, and the difficulties in reaching market very
much diminished the profits of his farming operations. Mr. Allen made no
effort to turn the conversation in which the Colonel’s heart was so
engaged. At bed time he said, “It is my custom, Colonel, wherever I
lodge, to have family prayers before I retire, will you call in your
family?” “Certainly, sir;” and the family were assembled, and worship
attended with great solemnity.
On Sabbath morning the
Colonel began on James River, and its improvements. “Colonel,” says Mr.
Allen, “what day is this?” “Sunday morning, sir.” “Aye, so it is; and
now will you tell me the design of the Sabbath day?” “It is for rest,
and the worship of God.” “Well, then, Colonel,” said Allen, in his most
pleasant manner, “we have had six busy days on James River, we are to
let James River rest to-day, and all worldly matters, and attend to the
proper business of the day. We will, if you please, begin with family
worship before breakfast.” “Certainly, Mr. Allen;” and the family
attended worship with great solemnity. After breakfast the Colonel began
again on James River. “To the point, Colonel, to the point,” said Allen,
and turned the conversation upon the unsatisfying nature of earthly
things, and the necessity of laying a good foundation for time to come.
At th6 hour of preaching,
the house was filled; rooms, passage, porch, all were occupied, and some
even standing in the yard. The attention to the sermon was good; some of
the hearers were deeply affected. Towards the close of the sermon, Mr.
Allen turned to the Colonel’s negroes who had been assembled, “You
negroes, I have a word for you. Do you think that such poor black,
dirty-looking creatures as you can ever get to heaven? I do not speak
this because I despise you, and have no tender feelings for you; by no
means. I pity you from my heart. You are poor slaves, and have a hard
time of it here; you work hard, and have few of the comforts of life
that you can enjoy; but I can tell you that the blessed Saviour shed his
blood as much for you as for your masters, or any of the white people.
He purchased pardon for you as much as for the white people. He has
opened the door of heaven wide for you, and invites you to come in. I
have thought the poor negro slaves, of all people, ought to strive the
hardest to get religion, and make their peace with God. Your masters may
make some sort of excuse for serving the devil, because they have many
of the good things of this life, with the pleasures of sin for a season.
But what have you to make a heaven of in this world? What do you get for
serving the devil here? You may become religious, and find peace with
God as easy as white persons, and I think easier too, for you have not
half so many temptations in your path. Make God your friend, and take
Jesus for your Saviour, and he will keep you through all your troubles
here ; and though your skins may be black here, you will hereafter shine
like the stars in the firmament. I entreat you, set about this work
without delay. Break off from all your wicked ways, your lying,
stealing, swearing, drunkenness, and vile lewdness; give yourselves to
prayer and repentance, and fly to Jesus, and give up your heart to him
in true earnest, and flee from the wrath to come.” The negroes wept
abundantly. The white people were more affected with the address to the
black people than with the sermon to themselves. Allen parted with the
family on the kindest terms. He never visited them again. He soon left
Virginia for ever.
In one of his various
journeyings, he found at the tavern at which he called to pass the
night, a company of young people assembled for a dance. The landlord, at
his request, accommodated him with a comfortable room and blazing fire ;
and announced to the company, when about to begin the dance, that a very
agreeable gentleman had arrived at the house and taken lodgings, and
perhaps might be induced to join the dance. Well, said a lively, pretty
girl, I will go and get him for my partner. Entering his door, she
dropped a handsome curtsy, and said — sir, shall I have the pleasure of
a dance with you this evening ? Allen eyed her for a moment, and said —
well, my little sweet-heart, I cannot deny such a charming little girl
what she asks. So taking her by the hand, they together entered the
ball-room, and took their stand upon the floor. Just as the fiddle was
called for to begin — stop! stop! says Allen, we are a little too fast;
I make it a point to engage in nothing without asking heaven’s blessing
upon it. Let us pray. He put up a fervent prayer of some length. At its
close, discovering he had made a deep impression, he gave a solemn
exhortation. His lively partner, trembling with alarm, fell upon the
floor, and was laid upon a couch. Some of the young men left the room;
others wept profusely; and many exhibited deep feeling. The dance was
broken up, and the evening spent in religious worship ; many were asking
what they should do to be saved. Tradition says there were some hopeful
conversions from among the enquirers. In his talent, or capability of
saying and doing things which ordinary men could never accomplish, and
should never attempt, was the secret of Allen’s popularity. His
sanctified eccentricity made him a useful man.
A little before his
removal to Kentucky, he preached in Lexington. Paine’s Age of Reason had
been circulated among the youth, and a number of store boys and
apprentices were quite captivated with the work. There was much talk
among the young people about the soundness of the arch-infidel’s
opinions. A large company had assembled to hear Mr. Allen preach.
Towards the close of the sermon he said — “Young men I have a word with
you before I close;— you say some of you, that ,by the help of Paine’s
Age of Reason, you have found out that religion is all a fable, and that
the Bible is nothing but a pack of priest-craft. Now, I ask you what do
you know about religion and the Bible? When did you bestow half of the
pains and time in studying the Bible that you have upon Paine’s Age of
Reason? You green-heads, you are nothing but the retailers of the shreds
and scraps of Infidelity; mere echoes of an echo. You know no more about
religion than a goose does about geography.” This attack came
unexpectedly. The serious and grave could scarce restrain a laugh; the
contaminated youth bit their lips. Infidel talk was however banished
from Lexington, or confined to private places. “Green-heads,” and
“goose’s geography,” would silence all cavils at religion. The infidel
was killed with his own favorite weapon.
Early in the spring,
having accepted the call from Silver Creek and Paint Creek, which had
been in his hands about two years, Mr. Allen removed to Kentucky. His
father sent by him the following letter to Jacob Fishback:
Cumberland Cy., Virginia,
March 7tb, 1794.
Sir—I received your
letter by my son Cary; and I read it, and I believed every word that you
wrote to be the truth. My heart said give him up, cheerfully up, to do
the Lord’s work, be it where he was called for most. But my flesh
scringes at it, and would make the water flow out of my head very
freely; and I could not help it. But it appears to me now, at this time,
he is wanted here as much as at Cantuck ; and I will give reasons for
it. Cary’s connexion is very large, and people that are of no church are
very fond to hear him ; they have faith in him. He is now married, and I
am pleased at that; perhaps it may be a means of hearing from him
oftener than had he married in Cantucky. But now, my dear sir, you have
all the advantage of me, his old father, who must go out of the world
shortly, and Cary a favorite child. Will you sympathise with me, and let
him come to see me. His friends would now stop him from going could they
do it. But his heart is at Cantucky; and I never did undertake to
persuade him against going, but often told him I was opposed to it, and
could not be angry with him. I am now sixty-five years old, a planter,
and never was but a little over one hundred miles from home in my life.
I have seen and felt two revivals in my time; and now we are very cold
in religion again. I was in Hanover when religion first sprung up in my
neighborhood ; and now at that place there is scarcely the shadow of
religion. And will it be so here ? God forbid it should. If it should I
cannot stay here. But I am in hopes when the seed is sown in the heart
it will not die. My desires are the same now as ever ; and I feel now
like I never could give up to the foolish fashions and customs of the
world. I remain a stranger, but am in hopes a friend to you and you to
me. Danl. Allen.
The simplicity and godly
sincerity that appear in this letter characterized all that section of
country around Hampden Sidney College, occupied by the Presbyterian
congregations. Mr. Allen would probably have yielded to the wishes of
his father and friends, and have remained in Virginia for life; but his
numerous admirers in Kentucky gave him no rest, sending messages and
letters to call him west of the Alleghenies.
On the 11th of October,
1794, he was ordained pastor of the two churches that had given him the
call. Feeling himself the shepherd of the flock, he was ready to spend
and be spent for those for whom Christ laid down his life. v One cold
winter night ho preached in a log cabin to a crowded auditory. After
service, leaving the room in a free perspiration, he rode some miles to
the place of his lodging ; took cold and fell ill. A cough succeeded,
and a rapid decline. On the 5th of August, 1795, he breathed his last,
being in his twenty-ninth year; leaving a wife and one child, a
daughter. As he approached his end, his desire to be useful lost none of
their intensity. He called the elders to his room for counsel and
exhortation. He sent for members of the church in companies, and
exhorted them; and thus kept the spirit of piety alive. He departed in
the triumph of faith. His grave is in a burying-ground near Danville,
marked by head and foot-stones, erected in 1523 by the Presbytery of
Transylvania.
The sedate, unaffected,
sincere, and conscientious young companion of Cary Allen, on his second
trip to Kentucky, William Calhoon, was reared in Prince Edward County,
the son of a pious elder in the Briery Church. Born in 1772, and early
instructed in religious truth, and the practice of strict morality,
unusually inclined to gravity, and very respectful to religion, and its
ministers, he became a member of Hampden Sidney College, at the age of
fourteen. He was a student there during the great revival, which made
its appearance, among the Presbyterians, first in Briery; and was a
partaker of its blessings. His father lived about six miles from the
College, and required his son to return home every Saturday, and pass
the Sabbath with the' family in private, social, and public worship of
God. This keeping the Sabbath holy cherished in the mind of the youth
those religious impressions early made. All the jeers and laugh of the
thoughtless boys in College, not one of whom was known to be religious,
could not destroy the conscientious sedateness of young Calhoon in any
matters that concerned morality and religion. In cheerfulness and close
attention to his studies he was surpassed by none.
When William Hill began
to be disturbed about the condition of his soul, he requested this
sedate lad, as he was going home of a Saturday, to ask his father to
send him some good book to read. The message was delivered in presence
of the family. Miss Peggy, a pious elder sister, said, “I know what to
send—I have got the very book for him.” And on Monday, young Calhoon
carried to College a much used copy of Alleine’s Alarm to the
Unconverted. This book was the occasion of discovering the seriousness
in College, and of uniting the prayerful in a social band. In the
revival which followed, the bearer of the book was a hopeful partaker of
the blessings. That Allen, and Hill, and Read, and Calhoon, and Blythe
should cherish a warm friendship for each other and for Legrand, was but
the natural consequence of companionship in the early exercises of a
renewed heart. Allen, mirthfully eccentric; Hill fiery, passionate and
lofty, yet mirth-loving ; Read, resolute but full of kindness, with the
simplicity of a child; Blythe, full of generous feeling, and from the
hour he wept in Hill’s room over his remissness in religion, an
unflinching defender of the truth as it is in Christ; and Calhoon, with
his gravity, ardor, and tender conscience, all of them ran for Christ a
race marked with their individual characteristics, and abounding in
blessings to the church.
When about nineteen years
of age, Mr. Calhoon offered himself a candidate for the ministry, to the
Presbytery holding its sessions at the Briery Meeting House, April 1st,
1791. His examination took place that evening, in the dwelling of Mrs.
Morton, and record was made of his acceptance. In the absence of the
moderator, Robert Marshall, a licentiate under the care of the
commission of Synod, opened the Presbytery, being present, in
preparation to go with Allen to Kentucky on a mission. In October, at
Cub Creek, the candidates, Moses Waddell and William Calhoon, appeared
for examination. In the evening, at the house of Littlejoe Morton, they
read their trial pieces, Mr. Calhoon’s being a lecture on 110th Psalm.
The examination on Greek and Moral Philosophy was on May 10th, 1792, at
D. S. Mr. Calhoon was called to open Presbytery with his trial sermon
for licensure, on John 6th, 37, All that the Father give thme shall come
unto me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out. On the
12th, William Calhoon, Moses Waddell, and William Williamson, having
passed the various examinations and trials required by Presbytery, were
licensed to preach the gospel. One of the candidates for licensure, Mr.
Waddell, had a seat in Presbytery as elder from Cumberland congregation.
At a meeting of the Presbytery at Bethel, July 27th, 1792, Mr. Calhoon
was recommended to the commission of Synod:—And at a meeting of the
commission, in Harrisonburg, Sept. 22d, he was appointed missionary, and
sent with Mr. Allen to Kentucky, on his second visit to that region.
In descending the Ohio,
the boat in which the missionaries were embarked, was fired upon by some
bands of savages, for plunder. The cheerful Allen,- and the sedate
Calhoon stood bravely for defence, and demanded an equal exposure to
danger. Allen, by his mirth-moving eccentricities, would first attract
the attention of strangers, and his frank, open-hearted bearing in his
piety, would impress those whose attention he had won. The youth,
gravity, uprightness, and bravery of Calhoon, now about twenty years of
age, made an impression in his favor as a minister of the gospel, who
was to bo listened to with respect. His sociability in private circles,
and deep earnestness in the performance of his ministerial duties, held
the attention once gained, aud often ripened it into abiding
seriousness. Allen preferred Calhoon’s manner to his own, and would have
adopted it if he could ; but found, like Marshall, who preferred
Allen’s, in some things, to his own, that in style and manner, it is
better to improve nature, than to try to change her; imperfections may
be remedied, and excellencies improved.
Mr. Calhoon was an
acceptable missionary, and travelled extensively among the infant and
scattered settlements of Kentucky. He left no diaries or journals. It is
not known that he ever kept any. He had an excellent memory. He trusted
it like Robinson of North Carolina; and it was faithful to him. Almost
everything respecting himself he committed to her charge, the dates and
facts of his various travels, his experience, his reading, his
observations on men and things, the sayings of those he loved, his
interviews and discussions, all were safely treasured np for time of
need. He often entertained his family and others with his adventures in
Kentucky; but left no record.
In November, 1793, he was
received back from the commission by the Presbytery, at Cumberland
meeting-house, at the time Mr. Alexander was received a licentiate from
Lexington; on December 25th, of the same year, he was transferred to
Transylvania Presbytery to become a resident of Kentucky. On the 12th of
February, 1795, he was ordained pastor of Ash Ridge and Cherry Spring.
Not being entirely satisfied with his position and prospects he returned
to Virginia, and at the Cove, May 9th, 1799, was, without written
credentials, received, on oral testimony of a dismission from
Transylvania, a member of Hanover Presbytery. For some years he preached
at D. S. and other places in Albemarle. On the 3d of May, 1805, at a
meeting of Presbytery at Bell Grove, he accepted a call from Staunton
and Brown’s meeting-house, and was on the same day transferred to
Lexington Presbytery. To these he devoted his time and strength for a
series of years. The increasing services, required by the enlarging
congregations, induced him, as the infirmities of age came on him, to
withdraw, first, from Staunton which he thought, and rightly, required
the undivided attention of a minister; and then, from Brown’s
meeting-house, which had taken the name of Hebron, and which required
the labors of a strong man. Retaining a great degree of activity and
resolution he supplied vacancies, and preached in neighborhoods that
were desirous of hearing the gospel, and not favorably situated to
attend upon divine service in the regular churches. His ministerial
labors were always equal to his strength, and often, in the estimation
of his family, beyond it. He was never satisfied, in that particular,
till he felt conscious he had gone to the utmost of his strength, and
that consciousness he often found on a bed of pain and exhaustion. His
family were never afraid that he would rust out. He was always afraid
that he should not wear out.
He was united in marriage
to the eldest daughter of Dr. Waddell ; and was happy in his domestic
relations. She survived him, having been his companion in his joys and
sorrows about half a century.
Mr. Calhoon was a hearty
Presbyterian. Reared under the fostering wing of Virginia
Presbyterianism, he gave the Church of his parents his earliest and his
latest love. He carefully studied her doctrines, examined her forms, and
investigated her history. In comparison with the Church of Rome, he was
a Protestant upon conviction; in the philosophy of his religious creed,
he was a Pre-destinarian; in the forms of the Church he held to the
parity of the clergy and simplicity in worship ; in practice he was pure
in morals, upright between man and man, and exercised a benevolence that
would embrace the whole race. He was a friend of all institutions by
whomsoever conducted that contemplated the conversion of the world to
God, and the elevation of the human race, on Christian principles.
Mr. Calhoon was a ready,
prompt man. All his stores were at his command at a moment’s warning.
His self-possession was never surprised. He always appeared at ease.
Preaching, at a certain time, at Rocky Spring, Augusta County, a member
of another church exclaimed in the midst of sermon — “I deny that
doctrine,’’ and by his rudeness excited some uneasiness in the
congregation. “Good people,” said Mr. Calhoon, “be pleased to be quiet;
that gentleman and myself will discuss the matter.” In a few moments the
discussion was through, and Mr. Calhoon went on with his argument, and
finished his discourse as if nothing had happened. Quick in retort, he
would sometimes disconcert that master of words and humor, Dr. Speece.
The directness of the thrust was equalled only by the kindness of the
manner.
Mr. Calhoon was a brave
man. Unobtrusive, unpretending in his manner, very polite in his
intercourse with his fellow-men, frank, open and cheerful, and master of
his passions — he was never known to show any cowardice. He seemed to
know his position and the danger that was imminent, and the way he must
ward it off, escape, or overcome, and could adapt himself to
circumstances with wonderful facility. In one of the necessary
journeyings from Kentucky, which in those days were always performed on
horseback, he was passing alone a track of wilderness, and was overtaken
by the approach of night, some miles from the lonely tavern where he
might lodge. A bright moon cheered him with her light. Suddenly a
horseman emerged from a forest path, and, in silence, took the road a
few steps in his rear. Annoyed by the singular conduct of the stranger,
after proceeding some distance, he suddenly wheeled his horse and said —
“Sir, I am strongly impressed with the belief, from your appearance,
that you are a robber. I must protect myself. Now 1 order you to take
the road before me until we reach the next house. Then if it appears
that I hare wronged you, I will make any amends in my power.” The
horseman, after a moment’s delay, took the lead in silence for about a
mile, then suddenly by a side path dashed into the forest. It was the
opinion of those at the tavern, which Mr. Calhoon soon reached, that by
his presence of mind and promptness he had escaped the hands of one of
those, who had for some time infested the wilderness and committed
numerous robberies, and some murders. Prompt in command and in danger,
he was profoundly submissive to constituted authority in its legitimate
exercise, fearless of exposure or of disgrace.
Mr. Calhoon was a social
man. He enjoyed society and made himself agreeable. Always preserving
the propriety of his ministerial character, he would approach the young
and thoughtless, and even opposers of religion, with cheerful news and
pleasing anecdotes, and give the conversation a religious turn to
impress some great truth of a spiritual nature. In the discussions that
would sometimes follow, he was remarkably happy, in setting forth the
truth, removing all difficulties and objections. In the opinion of some
his preaching talents, of a high order, were excelled by his
conversational powers. It is certain that the good impressions made by
his pulpit services were not obliterated by his private intercourse. “Do
you remember” said Dr. Speece to Mr. Calhoon, soon after the death of
the Honorable William Wirt, “the discussion you had with Mr. Wirt when
you were living in Albemarle?” “I do very well” replied Mr. Calhoon.
“Well,” said the Dr. “I visited him in his last sickness, and he told me
that he was a miserable man ever after till he embraced Christianity.”
Mr. Calhoon related the
circumstance of the discussion. He called to see the family of Dr.
Gilmer at Pen Park, near Charlottesville. Mr. Wirt the husband of the
eldest daughter made a part of the family. In the afternoon the origin
and authority of the Christian religion became the subject of
conversation. Mr. Wirt arrayed the arguments and facts and illustrations
of the French infidel philosophers, at that time exercising a vast
influence in Virginia by their novelty, apparent fairness and the
support they received from men high in the public estimation. Mr.
Calhoon was endeavoring to convince the young lawyer of the dangerous
ground on which he was standing, and the unsoundness of the positions he
had assumed. Mr. Wirt was arguing that Christianity was of human origin,
and of course its facts fabulous; Mr. Calhoon, that it was from God and
its facts and doctrines of course all true. The discussion grew warm.
Both felt its importance. At late bed time Mr. Wirt himself conducted
Mr. Calhoon to his room, conversing all the way, and while he was
preparing for bed; then sitting down continued the discussion till the
candle flickered in its sacket. Then undressing he threw himself into an
adjoining bed and continued the discussion. The dawn found them still
warmly engaged, unconscious of the passage of the hours of night. After
breakfast Mr. Wirt accompanied Mr. Calhoon several miles on his way,
still earnestly engaged in the discussion. In consequence of that
discussion Mr. Wir said he was a miserable man till he embraced
Christianity.
Mr. Calhoon was a
punctual and pleasant member of judicatories, fond of discussion, and
not tenacious of an opinion about mere circumstantials. Contending
valiantly for the truth, he could yield a world of non-essentials for
love, and give up a proposition frankly expressed for the proposition of
a brother that would secure unanimity. His conscientiousness was
sometimes extreme. He knew not how to give up an appointment for
preaching, except for sickness or some most marked providence of God.
Distance, cold, storm, mud, waters, must be in .excess to shake his
resolution one moment. His conscience was more likely to make him do and
suffer more for little things than the generality of men will for the
greatest. He would sooner ask an ungodly crowd at a village tavern to
join with him in prayer before he went to rest, than many others would
call their quiet families to the worship of God. His greatest difficulty
with his conscience was to find the boundaries of prudence. His great
horror of being at fault in his duty as a Christian minister, or man,
often led him into positions which the prudence of some would have
avoided, and the cowardice of others would have shunned. He never
counted the cost of fearing God and keeping a good conscience.
Mr. Calhoon was not fond
of his pen. He could use it. It probably would have been better for him
and those that came after him, had he used it more. One short letter of
recollections sent to F. N. Watkins, enriched the sketch of the revival
at Hampden Sidney College, in the former series. He could tell an
anecdote, or relate a fact, well. He had multitudes at command; and
often resolved to commit, some of them at least, to paper; and at last
suffered most of them to pass away with himself. He wrote but few
sermons. He meditated and arranged his thoughts with care. But if, in
the warmth of his public exercises, any new thoughts, or a new
arrangement pleased him, he adopted^ them forthwith. Sometimes like his
beloved preceptor, he would follow one head of his discourse or the new
thought, to the entire neglect of the symmetry of his announced plan, or
pre-arranged order; and so subject himself to the suspicion of having
lost his way, or of not having prepared his sermon. Those that knew him
understood the whole matter, and sometimes rejoiced, and sometimes
mourned, at the event. In any circumstances he was not a dull preacher;
always good, he was often deeply interesting. God appointed him trials
fitted to his nature; he felt them and acknowledged the hand that smote.
A particular relation might instruct others how to bear, and how to
avoid, afflictions. But like his brother Hill, having reaped the benefit
of sore trials, he has left the record of them to the book of God. |